


The First Law of Motion

by nhpw



Category: Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-13
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 13:42:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhpw/pseuds/nhpw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an accident leaves Sam unable to walk, he finds himself struggling both physically and emotionally, and Alan finds himself being pushed away for reasons he doesn't understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sephiur@gmail.com](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sephiur%40gmail.com).



> _“An object in motion remains in motion with the same speed and direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.”_

They liked to pretend it wasn’t a possibility.

They had talked about Alan growing old long before Sam; they’d talked about his will and last wishes, about making sure Sam knew where all of the legal power of attorney documents were kept, about in-home nursing care and assisted living and aging in place and who Sam should call after Alan passed.  They talked about his pension fund, about when to sign a DNR, about organ donation.  They talked about funerals and burial for Alan – his preference for the how and where of it.  It was almost an inevitability, that Alan would go first, long before Sam was anything close to feeble or old.  They talked about the fact that Alan wanted Sam to find someone else to spend his later years with.

They never really talked about the possibility that Sam might go first – that he might answer a call that would turn out to be his last, that he might someday succumb to smoke or flame or both and perish in a blaze that was too big to contain.  They didn’t talk about it because it made them both feel too vulnerable.

And yet… sometimes, Alan would wake up late at night, alone, and run his hand over the empty pillow beside him and silently pray… _please, Sam.  Please come back to me safely._

When the 3 a.m. phone call actually came, Alan’s heart jumped up into his throat and he found himself choking on it, unable to respond to the voice of Sam’s fire chief as he explained what had happened.  He nodded dumbly, grunting like a fool, sleep still clouding some of his thoughts and terror fucking up the rest of them. 

“Did you get all that?”

Had he?  His mind scrambled for the specifics.

_There’s been an accident.  Sam’s in the hospital.  He’s going to be all right, but he messed up both his ankles pretty badly – he’s going into surgery in a couple of hours._

“I—yes,” Alan managed tightly, nodding again as though the no-nonsense man on the other end of the line could see him.

“I know he doesn’t have much family to speak of.  He lists you as his emergency contact, and I think it would mean the world to him if you were here when he gets out of surgery.”

No one at the firehouse knew they were lovers.  Actually, no one at ENCOM knew either.  It was better for both of them this way.  Safer.

_You have no idea_ , he thought to himself, fighting against tears.

“Thank you,” Alan managed, hoarse, and he hoped it just sounded as though he’d been woken by the call from a deep sleep.  He was, but that had nothing to do with his mannerisms.  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

The call ended and Alan just sat there, stunned, thinking idly how cliché this moment had been.  He was wearing a gray tank top and white boxers, sitting on the side of the bed, legs bent, feet on the floor, cell phone pressed to his ear.  Now as he got enough wits about him to close the phone, he did so in slow motion, mind replaying the conversation with the chief.

_There’s been an accident._

There had been a pause there, and oh, how Alan had panicked.  The tears had come instantaneously as his mind immediately reached for the worst possible scenario.  Sam was dead.  Sam had been burned alive.  Sam was charred beyond recognition and Alan was being called to come down and identify remains.

But no.  _Sam’s in the hospital_ , the chief had gone on, and then, blessedly, _He’s going to be all right._

“He’s going to be all right,” Alan repeated aloud to himself, trying vehemently to slow his heart rate enough that he could do things like stand, and get dressed, and for fuck’s sake drive a car.  “He’s going to be all right, but he’s going to need me.”  He nodded to himself and heaved a deep breath.  Another moment, and he sprang into action.

Glasses first, and then pants.  He needed pants.  He pulled on pants – dirty pants, and they might even have been Sam’s, but he didn’t give a damn.  They fit. 

He switched out his tank top for a semi-presentable brick red t-shirt and stepped into a pair of loafers without bothering to find socks.  He grabbed the keys to his Nissan and headed out the door.

He was waiting at a stoplight three blocks from the hospital when a streetlight illuminated the t-shirt he’d chosen at random.  It was Sam’s.  The black text across the chest said _25 th Annual Center City FD Pancake Breakfast_.

***

“Mr. Bradley?”

Alan stood as a man in scrubs – presumably Sam’s surgeon – entered the waiting room.  For the first time he took into account how out-of-character he looked – he wasn’t dressed like himself.  He was dressed like Sam.  He must’ve looked ridiculous.  But all he said was an anxious, “Yes?”

The doctor nodded and came close, extending a hand.  “Dr. Mark Jenkins.  Are you… family?”

“Sam was orphaned when he was young.  I’m his medical power of attorney.”  It was true.  It just skimped on the “after he turned 18” facts a little.

No matter – that seemed enough for the doctor.  “Surgery went fine.  He’s in recovery now – groggy, but awake and asking for you.  Did… has anyone told you what happened?”

“Not specifics, no.  Just that Sam had been injured on a call, and that I should come here right away.”

Dr. Jenkins nodded and rubbed his palms together.  “It was a structural fire – apartment building.  Sam was on the fourth floor.  He was attempting to descend a flight of stairs when the structural integrity gave way, and with no time to react… he fell two stories and landed on his feet.  His fire protection gear shielded him from any serious burns or cuts, but his feet absorbed the entire impact of the fall.  He shattered both his ankles and several bones in both feet.  He… he won’t be able to walk for some time.  As it is, neither foot can bear enough weight that he’ll even be able to use crutches.  My best estimate is that he’ll be in a wheelchair for at least six weeks.”

“Does Sam know that?”

“Not yet.  When he’s settled into a room, after he’s gotten some sleep, we’ll talk with him.  He has a few options – in-home nursing care, admittance to a rehab facility…”

Alan shook his head.  “That… won’t be necessary.  I’ll take care of him.”

The doctor sighed and shook his head, trying to smile but not quite managing the trick.  “With all due respect, Mr. Bradley… Sam’s going to need extensive care, especially at first.  He won’t be able to stand or walk.  He’ll need assistance with dressing, toileting, bathing, getting to and from his therapy appointments…”

“I’ve been there for Sam through just about everything in his life since he was seven years old.”  _And I’m sleeping with him.  And he’ll be a hellion for anyone else.  Have you ever tried to help that man do anything?_   “I’m sure the two of us will be fine.  Can I see him now?”

The surgeon relented, giving a nod.  “He’s right this way.”

***

“Sam?”

The young man was disoriented, blinking several times before his gaze finally landed on his lover.  He offered a pained, tired half-smile.  “Alan.  You came.”

“Of course I came.”  He looked around.  They were in a recovery room, which essentially meant there was very little privacy and another groggy patient shared the small space.  He couldn’t kiss Sam like he so badly wanted to, so he just reached down and squeezed one IV-laden hand.  “Do you remember any of what happened?”

“I…” Sam closed his eyes for a moment in thought.  His tongue darted out to lick his lips and then he coughed a little – Alan reached for the Styrofoam cup of water on the bedside table and held it up to Sam’s lips.  Sam accepted the offered help, but Alan didn’t miss the way the hand that didn’t currently have an IV affixed to it came to the bottom of the cup, an insistence on Sam’s part to show he wasn’t completely helpless.  “I was at the Stonebridge Apartments fire.  Four-story building… fire started on the second floor.  There were people trapped… upstairs… I went in through a window, helped a woman and her kids get to safety from the fourth floor.  I was headed down the stairs to the third floor when… the ground just disappeared.”  He shook his head.  “That’s all I remember.”

“Sounds about right.”

“Did everyone get out?”

“Yeah, man.  Everyone got out.  Minor injuries, but mostly… mostly everyone’s just worried about you.  You’re a hero, you know.”

For the first time since Alan sat down, Sam gave a glance down at his legs.  “Some hero,” he mumbled.

“Sam…”

“How bad is it?”

Alan heaved a sigh.  “You messed up both your ankles pretty badly.  It’ll be awhile before they can bear weight.”

“You mean I can’t walk.”  It came out deep and deadpan, and was directed at the ceiling more than at Alan.

“Yeah.”

Sam cursed under his breath and tears sprang into his eyes. 

“But Sam, you’re alive.  You’re here, and you’re going to get better in time.  That’s all that matters.  I thought… when the chief called, I thought… maybe I’d lost you…” Alan swallowed tightly around a lump in his throat.  What he really wanted to was to take Sam into his arms and never let him go ever again.  Instead he squeezed that hand again.  “I love you, Sam,” he chanced in a whisper, and it brought the tiniest of smiles to Sam’s face.  “I don’t know what I’d do without you, and we—we’re going to get through this, OK?”

Sam nodded, giving Alan’s hand a squeeze back.  “OK.”      


	2. Chapter 2

It was 2:00 in the morning.  Sam knew it was 2:00 in the morning because he was wide awake.  He fucking hated hospitals.  They constantly smelled like some messed-up combination of disinfectant and old people, the food was terrible, and every time he’d ever been in one, it was because someone close to him had died.  First had been his mother, when he was four.  He didn’t remember much about that – he and his father had gone to visit her there every day for months, and he remembered asking why she couldn’t come home and his father explaining that it was because she was very sick, but the doctors were trying to make her better so that she could come home and they could be a family again.

But she’d never gotten better, and she’d never come home.  One day his dad had said he was going to the hospital alone, and that Sam was going to stay with Alan and Lora for a few days.  He was smart enough even then to put the pieces together.

His grandparents had followed… Gramps first, when he was 12, and then Gram five years later, and Sam had been truly alone for the first time in his life.  When Gramps had died, Gram had the good sense to make Alan and Lora Sam’s legal guardians “just in case.”  She’d passed away six months before the law said he was an adult.  In a hospital room just like this one, Sam had lost the very last family member he had.   

And now here he was at 2:00 in the morning, lying awake in a hospital bed (at least he finally had his own room.  Christ.  It had taken them nearly all of the previous morning to decide Sam was stable enough to be moved out of recovery), listening to the bleep-blip-screeeeeech of hospital machines in other nearby rooms.  Alan had gone home to get some sleep, at Sam’s insistence (“I’m _fine_ , Alan.  It’s just a couple broken bones, all right?  Besides, you have to work tomorrow”), and the night duty nurse hadn’t come in yet to change his pain med IV or check his vitals.  He was bored, and restless… and he had to pee.

He could deal with everything else, actually.  It was the simple bodily function of needing to use the bathroom that nearly had him in tears.  He’d been holding it for 20 minutes, because when he realized he had to pee, his first instinct was to swing his legs over the side of the bed and just go take care of business – until he tried to move, and remembered his casts, and the pain, and the fact that he couldn’t walk.  Right.  He was going to have to call for a nurse, who would help him transfer to a wheelchair, push him to the bathroom, transfer him to the toilet, and he’d have to pee sitting down like a fucking girl.  He was blushing deep crimson just at the thought of the ordeal.

But wetting the bed would certainly cause more embarrassment.  It was the lesser of two evils.

He also gave a moment’s consideration to a bedpan, or the doctor’s offer to have a catheter put—ew, no.  He shook his head to force that thought out.

Another moment and he hit the “call” button.

It was less than a minute before a nurse appeared, and Sam had to compliment the hospital staff on their punctuality if nothing else.  He gave her a once-over.  About his age, by the looks of her; slim, blond, curvy in all the right places.  She’d be a good catch, if he was into that sort of thing – and the way she was leaning against the doorframe suggested she might just be offering, in case he was interested.  He wasn’t, but he gave her a half-smile anyway.  “Hey,” she said, gliding into the room.  “You all right?”

“Yeah.”  Sam nodded, studying his blanket intently and puffing out his still-burning cheeks.

She made a quiet “hmmm” sound and asked, eyes sparkling, “Can’t sleep?”

“No.  I mean yeah.  I mean…” He rolled his eyes at his own ridiculousness.  “I have to go to the bathroom.”

To that she simply nodded, looking a little sad.  “Let me page Malekai for some help with your transfer.  Can you hold it just another minute?”  He offered only a nod in reply.  He still couldn’t meet her eyes.  “I’ll be right back.  Just sit tight, Cutie.”

 _Cutie_.  He couldn’t decide if she meant it flirtatiously or if she was patronizing him.  Either way, it wasn’t appreciated.

“Malekai” was a large black man at least a foot taller than the girl, and he had a couple of inches on Sam, too, not to mention the fact that he probably weighed at least twice as much as Sam did – mostly in muscle.  Malekai, Sam thought, ought to try his hand at being a wrestler if he ever decided being a 3rd shift CNA wasn’t his calling.

But he was as gentle as a teddy bear, bodily lifting Sam into the chair, pushing him to the attached commode, helping him to undress as needed and sit on the toilet.  And then he closed the door so that Sam could do his business in private.  “Just call out when you’re finished,” he said in a soft voice that completely belied his appearance.

Despite all that, when Sam was alone again, he threw his head back to stare at the ceiling and let a few tears escape, thinking for the first time in a long time about how much he missed his father… and how much he dearly missed Alan.

And how he’d never felt so emasculated in all his life.

His hands fisted in the pristine sheet beneath him and his breath came in short, angry huffs as hot tears streamed freely down his face. 

***

They kept him in the hospital another couple of days, weaning him off IV pain medications and onto tablets he could take at home.  Vicodin, he decided, sucked – even when he took it on a full stomach, it made him foggy-headed and dizzy and a bit sick to his stomach.  He asked if he could just take Ibuprofin instead, and they said he was welcome to do whatever he wanted in that regard, but with that side-eye look that said “I know what’s best for you, young man.”  So he let Alan fill the Vicodin prescription before they left the hospital, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t cursing about it in his head the entire ride home.

“Sit tight,” Alan said as he pulled the Nissan into the driveway, parked and opened his door.  “I’ll come around and get you.”

Sam opened his own door.  He’d never let Alan hold doors open for him.  Why start now?  He even gave himself a little push to the edge of the passenger seat, bracing his fists and he was almost certain that he could lift himself bodily like that, and just sort of swing over into the chair, without Alan’s help.

What happened instead was that he ran his hip into the aluminum side of the wheelchair, causing him to curse and yell and seethe at the bruise that would undoubtedly be left on his hip; the bruise that Alan would examine and fuss over next time he had to pull down his pants in Alan’s presence.  For reasons he couldn’t explain, that made him rage inside at Alan as he surrendered to the feel of his lover guiding him into the chair.  He took just a split second to get his bearings, booted feet on their proper resting place, before wheeling himself at a quick clip toward the front door.

_At least my arms still work._

“Sam,” he heard Alan say, but he didn’t respond – just wheeled up the ramp on Alan’s front porch, opened the door with his key and wheeled himself inside toward the bedroom.

Alan caught up with him there – or cornered him, Sam couldn’t decide which – and looked at him, eyebrows raised, as he heaved a sigh that was trying very hard not to be exasperating.  “It’s ten in the morning.  You going to bed already?”

“I’m tired,” Sam huffed.  He wheeled the chair a few inches forward, back, to the side… the best he could do for pacing.  “I just want to lie down in my own bed.”

“All right.  I’ll help you up.  Do you need to use the bathroom first?”

Sam breathed in and out loudly through clenched teeth, and his rage boiled up from his gut until it exploded out his mouth, spewing venom at his well-intentioned lover.  “No, I don’t need to fucking use the bathroom.  And if you’re so worried about it, why don’t you just put a diaper on me?  That would just complete this entire shit show.”

“Sam, I—“

“Fuck it, Alan.  Just –I just want to be alone.”

Alan didn’t meet his eyes and didn’t say a word as he lifted Sam up onto the bed.  Sam tried not to notice the way the older man’s shoulders were slumped slightly as he headed for the door.  “I’ll be here if you need anything,” Alan said in a quiet voice that cut straight to Sam’s heart and sent fresh angry tears spilling down his cheeks.  “Just call for me.”  And he closed the door, giving Sam what he’d asked for.

Alan wasn’t gone more than two seconds when Sam took one of the pillows from behind his head and hurled it at the closet door. 

It made a most pathetic _thump_.

***

He must’ve fallen asleep, though he didn’t remember doing so.  When he woke, his stomach and bladder were screaming at him in equal measure, but trumping both of them several times over was the pain.  It was unbearable, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken his Vicodin.

“Alan…” Sam tried to call out, but his throat was dry – a side effect of the medication and too little water, he supposed.  Tears sprang to his eyes in desperation.  _“Alan!”_

It was barely a rasp, but only a moment passed before the door opened and his lover stood there, straight-faced but holding a glass of water and one white pill.  He approached Sam wordlessly, eyes carrying a sadness Sam had never seen before, but he dutifully offered Sam the water glass and stroked his hair, wiping away a tear as he said softly, “You need to eat if you’re going to take another pill.  It’ll make your stomach upset if you don’t.”

“I know.”  He’d made that mistake only once in the hospital, and had never been so embarrassed as when he vomited all over himself and had to let the nurses change his gown and underwear.  Sam nodded at Alan and gratefully drank another long gulp from the water glass.  “Alan, I…”

“I know, Sam.”  Alan just nodded as Sam emptied the water glass.  “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah.  But I… I need to…”  He squirmed a bit.  To admit that he needed assistance with such an activity was still difficult, even when the assistance was coming from someone who’d seen – and touched – his intimate areas many times.

Alan nodded again and reached out for Sam.  “Brace your hands on my shoulders,” he instructed, holding Sam securely, one arm around his shoulders, the other under bent knees.  “On three, I’m going to lift you, OK?  And I want you to slide over as much as you can.”  A pause.  Sam wanted to argue – his brain was screaming that Alan wasn’t strong enough to hold him – but what choice did he have, really?  So he drew his lips into a thin line and waited for the count.  “One… two… three!”

Sam would reflect later, after the embarrassment of needing someone to help him take a piss had passed, that he really should have given Alan more credit for his strength.  In the moment, though, he simply turned bright red at the fact that Alan was stronger than he was, that he himself was so weak he couldn’t bear his own weight.  He stayed red-faced through the whole ordeal and couldn’t even look Alan in the eyes when it was over.  Remembering his behavior from earlier, he did manage a mumbled, “Thank you,” as Alan helped him back into bed.

“You’re welcome.”  It sounded like an exchange between strangers rather than lovers.  “Let me go make you a sandwich and get your pills.”

Sam slumped against his pillows, face set in a wince.  With his bladder empty, all he could think about was the pain in his feet.

Alan returned in short order with a ham sandwich, potato chips and a glass of milk.  He offered Sam the plate and then went around to sit down on his own side of the bed.  “You feeling any better?”

Sam shrugged as he ate the sandwich.  “Hurts,” he said simply.

“I figured as much.”

 _Then why did you ask?_   But Sam stopped the question before it came out of his mouth.  He just huffed and finished his sandwich, barely glancing at Alan as he started in on the chips.

“Sam… Are we… all right?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

There was a sigh from the other side of the bed, and for the first time, Sam made eye contact with his lover.  “No reason.”  A hand reached out and patted his thigh, then rested there – a comforting gesture.  All it did was remind Sam that he couldn’t roll over and blanket Alan’s body with his own, smother him with kisses and fuck him senseless.  He looked away again and finished his meal. 

“I love you, Sam.”

Sam bit his lip – the emotion in Alan’s voice was unbearable.  All he could do was nod.  Then he swallowed a Vicodin and said, “Is it all right if I watch TV in here for awhile?”

“Sure.”  Alan got up slowly, coming around to Sam’s side of the bed.  He squeezed the opposite knee and turned to leave.

“Alan?”  Alan paused on the threshold at Sam’s voice.  “I… thank you.”

Alan ducked his head and pulled the door shut.  This time, the sound wasn’t half as deafening as it was simply _sad_.


	3. Chapter 3

Alan spent most of that first day reading.  He read the newspaper, read a book… did a crossword, and started a new book.  After tending to Sam a second time, and feeling the weight of the sudden distance between them sink into his soul yet again, he didn’t want to read anymore.  He didn’t want to do anything except be with Sam.  He wanted to hold him close, feel for himself that Sam was going to be OK, kiss any scrapes or bruises, tell him stories until he fell asleep.

But Sam, it seemed, did not want to be with him.

Deep down he knew it was temporary, that Sam loved him, that certainly he wouldn’t break things off over this… but to Alan, it didn’t matter.  He felt more hurt and lonely than he’d ever been, and he didn’t feel right yelling at Sam, picking a fight, not when Sam was…

Sam was _alive_.  Nothing else mattered.  Not his attitude, not Alan’s hurt feelings, nothing.  Things could be much, much worse, and so Alan would endure them as they were.  Sam would come around.

Still, when night came and Alan had watched the evening news and tucked the house in for the night, he found himself unable to sleep.  He settled down in bed next to Sam, spooning behind him but leaving more space between their bodies than he usually did.  It was cold and lonely, even though Sam’s body was no more than six inches from his own.  And then he noticed something else – Sam was restless in his sleep.  He was dreaming… no.  He was having a nightmare.  A violent nightmare, in fact – one that was making him whimper and punch out in front of him with two closed fists.  One that was making him warm and sweaty.

Alan watched until it pained him to watch anymore.  Then he gave in and rested one hand on Sam’s upper arm, kneading gently.  At the touch, Sam’s movements stopped, and after a moment, he quieted and his breathing returned to normal.

Only then could Alan fall asleep.

***

The days wore on in a similar manner – Sam was intermittently moody and distant; Alan was as nurturing as Sam would allow him to be, all the while feeling mildly resentful of Sam’s attitude – and then feeling guilty when he realized he was lucky to have Sam here with him at all.  He wanted to ask Sam about the nightmares that plagued him every night, but every time he attempted to raise the subject – “Are you sleeping OK?” – Sam brushed him off.

“I’m fine,” he’d say.  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

And Alan would sigh and shrug.  “Just worried about you, that’s all.”

Sam would say, “Don’t be,” and close the discussion by leaving the room.

But something was bothering Sam, something that haunted him at night, made him distance himself from Alan and be a complete asshole to the nurse who came in on Thursday to help with his physical therapy.  He knew Sam well enough to know this wouldn’t last, that the young man was a ticking time bomb, and that Alan would likely be the one in the line of fire when he exploded.

On Friday – three days after his return home from the hospital – Sam decided he could do without the Vicodin, choosing instead to swap it out for Ibuprofin.  That meant he was awake more often, but not necessarily more agreeable.

It also meant that on Saturday, Sam was lucid enough to broach two touchy subjects in one conversation. 

Boom.

It was in the middle of a sponge bath – the closest thing to intimacy they’d had since Sam’s accident – and Alan was dutifully, gently, as lovingly as he dared, running a soapy sponge over Sam’s pectorals.  Sam had his head back and eyes closed, and he looked relaxed – like maybe he was actually enjoying Alan’s touch the way… the way Alan wanted him to.  Then, without opening his eyes, Sam mumbled, “What did you tell them?”

Alan stilled the sponge just below Sam’s belly button.  “Who?”

“ENCOM.”  The young man’s voice was deep and a little dangerous, but he still hadn’t moved his head from Alan’s shoulder or opened his eyes.  “You didn’t go in to work all week.”

Alan gave a little shrug.  He was at the same time grateful for the conversation and extremely wary of what direction it might be headed.  “I told them you’d been injured on a call and I needed time off to care for you.”

Now Sam sat up slightly and turned to face Alan just enough that Alan could see the danger dancing in his eyes.  “And it was allowed, you could take medical leave for it because I was your _ward_.  Because for six months, you were my legal guardian.  Convenient.”

“Sam—“

“Not because we’re partners.”

“Sam, we’ve talked about—“ The sponge was still sitting on Sam’s belly, and Alan felt frozen in that position.

“What if I’d died in that fire?”  And Alan let the sponge drop.  He pulled back from Sam as if he’d been burned.  “What would you have said at my funeral, huh?  Even after I’d died, would you have risked your reputation to admit that you loved me _this way_?”

Alan fought the anger he felt rising in his chest.  Sam was just in pain, he was feeling helpless, he didn’t mean any of what he said – at least Alan didn’t think so.  But that didn’t mean it didn’t still hurt.  “Where is this coming from, Sam?”

“I’m just—I’m so sick of this.”  Sam let his shoulders rise and fall with a sigh.  “I’m sick of tiptoeing around what we really are when we’re in public.  I’m tired of living in fear that someone might _find out_.  And I’m tired of this – of you being afraid of me every damn second, like I might break if you do the wrong thing.  You don’t touch me like you used to.  You don’t talk to me like a lover.  Don’t you want me anymore?”

On those words, something inside Alan snapped.  He took a couple of hot breaths in and out, and his nostrils flared when he did so.  Then he stood, ending the bath abruptly and pulling the plug in the tub.  “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” he grumbled as he toweled himself off quickly and angrily yanked on pants and a t-shirt.  Then he turned to face Sam, burning daggers into his eyes.  “No, you know what?  It’s the most _selfish_ thing I’ve ever heard.  You’re right, I was granted medical leave to care for you because I was your legal guardian, and you know what?  Sometimes you’re just as self-centered and foolish now as you were then.”  Sam was staring at him with wide eyes, and it seemed like maybe he might cry, but Alan had said too much to turn back now.  “ _Of course_ I want you.  I want you more than you know.  I want to hold you and kiss you and be thankful that you’re still alive and here with me, but you don’t seem to want that.  You’ve pushed me away at every turn since you’ve been home, and now you’re blaming it on me?  Fuck that, Sam.  Just…”  Alan ran a hand over his face, composing himself enough to help Sam up and out of the tub, into his bathrobe and back into his wheelchair.  He pushed it down the hall to the living room where he parked Sam near the couch.  Then he went to the closet for his jacket.  “I’m going out,” he said, voice void of the emotion that had been there just a moment ago.

And then he left.

Where he was going, he didn’t know.  What Sam would do while he was gone, he knew even less.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There be sex in this here chapter!

The very first thing Sam did after the front door slammed shut behind his lover was cry.  He cried for a long time – mostly without knowing exactly what he was crying about.  He and Alan had had fights before.  Alan had even left like this before.  It was a thing Alan did to clear his head, to keep himself from saying something stupid or—well, _selfish_ , Sam supposed.  He always came back, and by the time he returned, they were both calmer and could talk about what had happened with level heads.

The difference this time was that Sam just felt so fucking helpless.  And, as his mind cleared up enough to really think about it, he knew he was going to have to apologize to Alan the second he got home.  Alan had been an angel, and Sam had repaid him by being a selfish brat.

When he ran out of tears, Sam wheeled himself to the kitchen.  After a moment’s thought, he opened the fridge, took out a beer and cracked it open.

He hadn’t had a beer since the accident.  Since the night…

_The flames were hot even through his gear, but Sam could see his target just beyond one flaming archway – a woman, holding the hand of a young boy and cuddling a baby in her other arm.  He charged forward, and the light that came into the woman’s eyes when she saw him was as if she’d seen an angel.  Sam smiled behind his mask and reached out a guiding hand.  “This way!” he instructed, and the woman followed, hurrying the little boy along with her.  But the child was slower than the fire had patience for, Sam knew that.  He squatted and lifted the toddler into his arms.  “Follow me!” he called, and trusted the mother to follow._

_He could hear the baby wailing above the rush of the flames.  God, it was hot –  an inferno all around them, threatening to consume them all without warning._ Just let me get them out _, he prayed, and Sam so rarely prayed that he was sure it fell on deaf ears, so he added a qualifier – just in case God was willing to make a bargain._ Just let me get them out, and then you can have me, if that’s what you want.

_There was an open window just ahead, the one Sam had come through.  It was a ring of fire now, but Sam had a small extinguisher with him, and he used that to put out those flames.  The woman climbed through, and one of Sam’s peers guided her down a ladder extending from one of the engines on the ground below.  Sam handed off the little boy.  “You’re safe now,” he said to the child, who looked back at him as though he was some kind of superhero who had the power to walk through fire without a burn._

_“That’s it, Sam.  You’re coming out, too.”_

_But Sam shook his head.  “Has anyone checked the third story?”_

_"It’s too late for that.”_

_"_ _Like hell.”  And Sam turned his back on the voice of reason and walked back into the fire.  It bathed him in glowing light, he knew that.  Part of him knew the little boy was still watching, and in spite of himself, he smiled._

_And then the fire consumed his soul._

He startled in the kitchen – jumped in his chair, felt a shiver run down his spine.  He longed for Alan’s embrace, but Alan wasn’t here.  Sam had pushed away the one person who truly cared for him, and now he was alone.

He’d pushed him away… why?  Because he was too bullheaded to admit how goddamn scared he was?  To admit how much he needed someone, needed Alan, needed to know that the very ground beneath his feet was not going to crumble and give way in his own home…

To admit that he was vulnerable, that he could be hurt, that he could sustain injury…

That he could die.

It wasn’t a question.  It was the truth.  Sam was mortal, and up until now they’d lived as if that weren’t true.  The accident had changed that.  The accident had changed… everything.

The beer burned slow and forgiving down his throat, numbing his physical and emotional pain, but it didn’t erase the memories. 

“If you had died that night,” a soft voice interrupted his thoughts, and for a moment Sam thought he was dreaming, “I would’ve lost myself.  You’re my everything, Sam.  I’m not strong enough to live without you.”

“Sure you are.”  Sam didn’t realize he was crying again until he heard his own voice – hoarse and choked, and then he sniffled and shook his head hard, running the back of his hand over his tear-stained cheeks.  Alan’s voice was coming from behind him, near the back door – he hadn’t come past, so Sam could imagine him without turning around, still wearing his long overcoat, probably holding his keys.  Maybe he’d been crying, too.  “Just… look at me.  What good am I now?”

But Alan continued as if Sam hadn’t spoken.  “Why do you think we never talk about it?  Why do you think we make plans on top of plans for you to go on without me, and never the other way around?  It scares me to death… the idea that one night you might just never come home.  _I need you_ , Sam.”  There were footsteps, and then two familiar hands landed on his shoulders.  “I need you in whatever form I can have you.  If you were like this for life, I wouldn’t care.  If you’d lost your legs entirely, _I wouldn’t care._ ”  The hands squeezed his shoulders, and Sam heard Alan sigh.  “But I feel like… I feel like I did lose you that night, that’s the thing.  You’re here with me, but you, the most important part of you, the life and love I feel when I’m with you… it’s gone.  And it’s killing me.”  Alan paused – Sam wasn’t sure if he was expected to fill the silence, but if he was, he really didn’t know what to say.  “I expected you to be difficult when you got home.  I expected you to be overly independent, cranky, trying to prove yourself… I didn’t expect you to shut me out.  Why are you shutting me out, Sam?”

Sam bit his lip in a vain attempt to stop the freefalling tears.  “I’m not—I’m not _good enough_ for you, Alan,” he croaked out in reply.

“What?”  It was interesting to not be looking into his lover’s eyes at the one-word reply; the tone carried his incredulousness well enough, but Sam could picture the face Alan was making, and that almost made him laugh in spite of everything.

“You’re right.  I’ve been selfish.  But I… look at me.  I can’t… I can’t hold you, I can’t take care of you, I can’t make love to you or seduce you or…”

Alan chuckled then, soft and light, and leaned down to kiss the crown of Sam’s head.  Then he circled around the chair and pulled up a kitchen chair so that he could sit facing Sam.  “That’s the really great thing about being two adults in a relationship,” he said softly, leaning in to kiss Sam’s lips.  “Sometimes you take care of me, and sometimes… sometimes, when you let me, I get to take care of you.”  Another kiss, longer than the first.  “I’ve missed you, Sam.”

“Alan…”

“Let me.”  And Alan did what he had wanted to do all week.  He kissed Sam’s mouth with passion and love and worry and relief.  He let his hands feel Sam’s hair, feel down the back of his neck, over his chest, feel the life and vitality of the young man he loved.  When he reached the fabric of Sam’s robe, he fingered it, and Sam found himself wondering how this would go.  Would Alan start something right here in the kitchen?

But then Alan said, “I think I’d like to continue this in the bedroom,” in a hot whisper against Sam’s lips, and Sam could only nod in agreement.  He leaned his head back and let Alan push him down the hall.

***

Alan didn’t move Sam from his chair.  Instead, Sam watched as his lover knelt down in front of him.  He closed his eyes and let feeling take over as Alan leaned in, bracing his hands on the arms of the chair as he kissed Sam slowly, tenderly, the way he’d been kissing him in the kitchen but… with more intention.  Sam could only kiss back.  He lifted his hands to Alan’s head and felt the soft hair beneath his fingers… lower, to the neck, strong and somehow without a single wrinkle.  Without realizing it, Sam found himself clinging to Alan’s shirt collar, fisting it in his right hand as he intensified the kiss.

“Sam?”

A palm came up and touched his cheek, loving, gentle, the way Alan always was.  Not for the first time that week, certainly not for the first time ever, it dawned on Sam that he didn’t deserve the love of this man.  “I don’t—deserve—you,” he choked out on a fresh sob, but then Alan’s arms were around him in a fierce embrace and all Sam could do was return it.

“Shhhh…”  It was a soothing he’d been in need of for days, something he could melt into.  Why had he pushed this away?  “Don’t—don’t say things like that.  You deserve me plenty.”  There was the smallest hint of a smile in Alan’s voice, as though he was trying to make the statement a joke for Sam’s benefit and not quite managing the trick. 

Lips again, warm, soft lips and a tongue that knew how to dance with his own better than anyone Sam had ever met.  And hands… those hands, strong and knowing, with long, deft fingers that could coax a symphony of sound from Sam just by playing across his chest, the way they were doing now.  Was there music?  He thought he heard music, but no.  It was just the moment, and Alan.  They made their own music.

Alan loosened the tie on Sam’s robe and then opened it, and for just a second it was too cold – but then Alan leaned forward, put his lips to the skin of Sam’s stomach.  His tongue circled in the navel and his lips kissed every inch, and then every inch again, and those long, deft fingers went up to touch Sam’s chest, where it was too far for Alan’s mouth to go.  Sam found himself enamored, simply fascinated by his lover and the gentle touch he knew Alan to have but somehow had managed to forget.  He brought his fingers to Alan’s head and played in the gray locks, because he just needed to touch, to feel – he couldn’t sit passive.  Not when they might not have had this moment at all.

At Sam’s touch, Alan looked up briefly and grinned – but only long enough to meet Sam’s eyes.  Then he was down again, and his fingers were pulling his robe back, wanting the obstruction gone completely… Sam took the hint and lifted up enough to allow the task to be completed.  He settled back down and watched Alan pull the loose garment down and off as though the boots on his feet weren’t even there.  Then Alan kissed his way back up – first up the inside of Sam’s right leg, hand gripping just above the boot, lips exploring as though he’d never seen or kissed these limbs before.  He kissed up to the knee, tongued it, kissed all around it, then kissed up the inside of the thigh, staying clear of his groin.  He repeated the action on the other leg and Sam hissed as warm lips reached a special spot on the inside of his left thigh – of course Alan would seek out that spot, and when he heard Sam’s reaction, he attacked the spot with vigor, licking and sucking and scraping just slightly with his teeth.

“Alan…”

“Mmmm… I know.”  Alan’s lips finished their journey at his groin, and Sam knew what was coming next.

When Alan’s mouth closed around him, Sam hissed and bucked into the warm, wet heat without thinking.  He tightened his fingers in Alan’s hair and Alan just rode with the action, not letting go, and in fact using his tongue to enhance the experience for Sam.

“More… more…” He panted, and Alan obliged, taking him deeper, holding his hips in a tighter grip.    “Fucking God Alan…”  The words tumbled into a moan and Sam lost himself in the feeling.  His fingers tangled in Alan’s hair and he held on for dear life, knowing he wasn’t going to last because they hadn’t had sex since the accident, knowing Alan wouldn’t care.  He bucked his hips up as much as he could, and Alan made a sound that wasn’t quite gagging and then redoubled his efforts to bring Sam to the brink.  He swirled his tongue and Sam gripped his hair tighter.  He hollowed out his cheeks and sucked hard… and Sam couldn’t take it anymore.  With a grunt, he came, and Alan swallowed, and Sam stroked the hair under his fingers until his breathing calmed and Alan lifted his head to look up.  “Thank you,” he whispered.

“I’m just getting started.”  Alan reached under Sam’s legs with one arm and around his back with the other, bodily lifting him from the chair and setting him down gently on the bed.  Then Alan pulled off his own clothing unceremoniously, and Sam watched the reveal of his lover’s body, smiling in his post-orgasmic state, wondering when the last time was that Alan had stripped for him.  He’d have to ask him to do it more often.

Alan joined him on the bed, stretching out on his side and bringing one leg into the V of Sam’s legs.  He guided Sam’s head to turn to the side so that their lips could meet properly in a kiss – one deep, languishing kiss until they had to break for breath, followed by a series of tiny pecks to Sam’s lips, to his jaw, his cheek, his ear, his neck… and then Alan just stopped, and his arms came around Sam’s body for a tight embrace.

It took Sam a moment to realize that Alan was crying now, too – holding him close, smelling him and rubbing his face into Sam’s chest, leaving wet spots behind from his tears.  Sam stroked his hair and leaned down to kiss his forehead, and Alan drew a shaky breath and moved up to latch their lips again.  He stroked his hands down Sam’s arms in tandem, then reached onto his nightstand for a bottle of lube, somehow never breaking the kiss.  The tenderness of it reminded Sam of their first time together – Alan had been so reverent, so careful, not wanting for one second to break all contact and leave Sam feeling afraid or alone.

Sam sighed as Alan’s slick fingers penetrated him and he found himself reflecting that although he’d had other lovers, none of them had been as sweet or gentle as Alan.  Over time, sure, they’d branched out, and sometimes it was goofy and sometimes it was rough-and-tumble, but these were Sam’s favorite times – when the touches were gentle and the kisses were fueled by passion and Alan made it so good that Sam barely noticed when he withdrew his fingers, took his cock in hand and guided it up into Sam’s body.

“You’re so beautiful,” Alan’s voice whispered in his ear, and Sam could only arch up and moan in response.  He couldn’t figure out how Alan had maneuvered between his casts – to him, they were large and cumbersome and in the way of everything, but Alan was making love to him as though they weren’t even there.

Yet, as Alan continued his leisurely pace, it dawned on Sam that perhaps Alan acted like they weren’t there because that’s not what he saw when he looked at Sam.  He didn’t see the injury, and that was probably the point he was trying to make right now.  He saw the same man Sam had been a week ago, and two weeks ago, and two months ago and two years ago. 

“Hey.”  Alan pulled Sam back to the moment with a nudge of his prostate and a hand wrapped around his half-hard organ.  His hazel eyes were red from tears, and Sam felt wetness on his own cheeks.  “Stay right here with me, OK?”

Sam wasn’t sure whether the statement was meant to have a double meaning, but he could only sniffle and nod and wrap his arms around Alan’s neck.  “OK.”  It came out as a whisper against the older man’s skin.

Alan stroked Sam’s erection back to life, and then he picked up the pace of his thrusts very slightly.  He wanted this to last, and Sam couldn’t disagree.

He closed his eyes for just a moment, and when he opened them again, there was Alan, looking right back at him.

Alan established a steady rhythm, and it took him just a few tries to get the angle right so that he could nudge Sam’s prostate without hitting it square-on.  Briefly – very briefly – Sam wished he could flip them over and ride Alan to orgasm, but the look in his lover’s eyes made him drop that in an instant.  This was too much like heaven to want to change a thing about it.

“Wish this could last forever,” he mumbled instead, leaning up to kiss Alan’s neck.

“I know.  I know.”  Alan dipped his head and captured Sam’s lips.  His breathing was ragged and he was moving faster; Sam knew the signs.  This couldn’t last forever.  It would be over very soon.

Sam whimpered and then opened his mouth to moan as he felt his orgasm approach, and he embraced it, closing his eyes and crying out louder as he exploded over Alan’s fist.

Alan followed him over the edge, pulsing and filling Sam, holding him close all the while. 

They didn’t move for a long time.  Minutes passed and Alan just held Sam in silence, both of them breathing into the night.  Alan went soft and slipped out of Sam’s body and still they didn’t move, not until Sam was certain he was going to fall asleep, and it was if Alan knew that – so he moved to the side and pulled blankets up over them both.  Still he seemed reluctant to break all contact, coming back to lay on his side and kiss Sam’s arm, his cheek, his neck, his shoulder.  Alan was whispering something, but it was so quiet and breathy that Sam couldn’t decipher it.  Finally it broke through, hot against his collarbone: “I love you.  I love you I love you I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Good.”  Alan still didn’t raise his voice above a whisper, but he did bring his face up so that he could meet Sam eye-to-eye.  He reached up to pet his hair, to run a thumb down the side of his face, and Sam smiled, leaning into the touch.  Then Alan sat back, leaning against the headboard, speaking into the darkness.  “The other thing you said,” he started, then hesitated, and turned his head again so he could look at Sam.  “Did you mean it?”

“I…”  Sam shook his head; so much was happening that he really didn’t understand what Alan was talking about.

“Do you want to come out?”

Sam digested the question as it was asked – the tone said the very idea scared Alan to death.  It also said he’d do it for Sam, if that’s what Sam wanted.  “Sometimes,” he responded, blinking his gaze away from Alan’s for a brief moment, if only to figure out what to say next.  “But then I think about what it would do to you, and your position at ENCOM, and how the world would look at you, and I…”  He shrugged helplessly.  “Sometimes I just wish we could be normal.”

“I know.”  Alan sighed and held Sam close again.  “But really, it’s not fair of me to ask you to live in secret like this.”

“You never asked.  We just did.”

“Then it wasn’t right for me to assume.”  He paused before looking up at Sam’s face again.  “Baby steps?”

Sam felt a slow grin creep across his face.  “Sure.”


	5. Epilogue

It would have been wonderful if the sex fixed everything, but it didn’t.  Some wounds can only heal with time.

Sam continued to have nightmares about the fire.  They seemed less intense, but Alan would wake to the feel of Sam sweating in his arms or to occasional shouts in his sleep, and he’d wrap himself around the young man and hold him until he settled back into a peaceful slumber.  With each passing night, Sam quieted more quickly, until three weeks after the incident when Alan woke the next morning to realize he’d not been awakened in the night at all by his lover’s distress.  He smiled into his pillow and pressed up against the young man’s back, inhaling his scent and listening to the sound of his soft snores.

Sam didn’t seem at all interested in being awake, and Alan wasn’t going to disrupt him.  He rolled out of bed and undressed, headed for the shower.

Today was a big day.  Today, he was going back to work.

He didn’t want to, but they’d talked about it and decided that it was for the best.  Alan had exhausted his vacation time, and although he still qualified for unpaid leave, he was taking more and more calls from the office – and, Sam reasoned, why stay at home and not get paid if he was going to be doing work stuff anyway?

Alan had reluctantly agreed.  And so he got dressed in his customary dress shirt and tie, laced his shoes, ate a bagel with cream cheese and a glass of orange juice, brushed his teeth… and kissed Sam goodbye.

It wasn’t until that moment that he realized he was nervous about today… about going to the office.  About leaving Sam.  About what he might say, if he was brave enough.

He touched gentle fingers to the side of Sam’s face and the young man barely stirred, so Alan took one more moment to gather his strength before straightening up and heading out of the house.

His office looked exactly as he’d left it before… before.  But Alan felt different – braver, somehow, standing in this same space.

He sat down at his desk and powered on his computer, pulling up his e-mails to begin the long, slow process of weeding out the important crap from the actual crap.  He deleted messages about meetings that had been scheduled which he’d missed anyway, sticking to the ones containing the minutes from those meetings. 

The Board had approved the hire of Edward Dillinger, Junior as a mid-level programmer – Alan bit his lip at that.  He’d heard stirrings that the kid had applied, and he was resolute not to judge young Edward on his father’s merits – or lack thereof. 

“Alan.  Welcome back.”

The voice drew Alan up out of his e-mails and he turned a patient half-smile toward his office door.  “Hello, Dick.  Thank you.”  Mackey hated that nickname – which was precisely why Alan used it.

The executive’s fake smile fell away at the greeting.  “I wanted to stop in and let you know I… couldn’t wait any longer for you to return, and I assembled the team that will be designing the new OS.  I hope you understand why I couldn’t include you on the project.”

“Of course.”  Alan kept his voice level, folding his hands in front of himself on his desk.  He wouldn’t let Mackey get a rise out of him; wouldn’t give the other man the satisfaction.

Mackey nodded, folding his arms casually over his chest as he leaned against the frame of Alan’s office door.  “How is our majority shareholder?”

“Little better every day,” Alan responded, leaning back into his chair and crossing his arms to mirror Mackey’s posture.  It felt like they were facing off, and Alan couldn’t decide if they were really were or not. 

Mackey chuckled and shifted slightly, crossing one ankle over the other.  “That’s good.  He’s still staying with you, then?”

“Yes,” Alan responded as calmly as he could. “Yes, he’s still staying with me.”

“I see.  And how long will that arrangement be in place?  After all… the Board does have a right to know how and where to reach its majority shareholder in the event of an important vote.”

Alan nodded and leaned forward in his chair, folding his hands on the desk in front of him.

Baby steps.

“He’s welcome to stay as long as he wants,” he began, locking eyes with the executive as he continued, “And I’m thinking it’ll probably be somewhere between forever and for the rest of my life.”

Mackey’s brow furrowed, and then he opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out.  He closed his mouth and his brow furrowed deeper.  Then he raised his eyebrows.  “Well.”  He nodded.  “I guess if you’re willing to support his rebellious nature… then I…”  He shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets, taking a long look at Alan as though he was missing one piece of a very big puzzle and he just couldn’t solve it without that piece.  “Good day, Alan.”

He turned to depart – paused in the doorway as though he might turn back around to probe further – and then shook his head and walked away.

Alan grinned, satisfied. 

He nodded to himself as he returned to his e-mails. 

One small step.  But it was a step in the right direction. 


End file.
